Preview of Divine Lola: A True Story of Scandal and Celebrity by Cristina Morató
Preview of Divine Lola: A True Story of Scandal and Celebrity by Cristina Morató
Chapter One
CHAPTER 1
Wild Beauty
It had been thirteen years since he'd said goodbye to her for the last time, but upon learning of her death, he found himself deeply moved. In all that time, King Ludwig I of Bavaria had been unable to forget his beloved Lola Montez, the beautiful Spanish dancer who'd burst into his life like a whirlwind one sunny fall morning. How could he fail to remember October 8, 1846, when he'd first seen her decked out in a black velvet dress that accentuated her splendid figure and the delicate pallor of her skin? He'd fallen in love instantly, captivated by her beauty, fire, and breathtaking personality.
Over the next few months, he had devoted himself obsessively, indifferent to her past and the notorious reputation that preceded her. In the conservative Bavarian court, rumors flew that the king had lost his head over a scandal-tainted woman who was trying to meddle in state affairs. Ignoring the critics, Ludwig granted her the title of countess, offered her a generous pension, and bought her a palatial mansion that he visited daily. Now, in his old age, a smile played on his lips as he recalled that happy period during which he'd felt so profoundly rejuvenated. He still trembled when he remembered the afternoons they'd spent reading Don Quixote in front of the fireplace, whiling away the hours dreaming about a life together far from the dull Munich court. It is true that he had a weakness for beautiful women and had been an incorrigible ladies' man, but Lola was different from the others-she was his great love. Though he'd lost his throne and his subjects' respect because of her, he bore her no ill will. He'd kept tabs on his lover's adventures through the years, after she had been forced to flee Bavaria and then had swiftly become an international celebrity. His ambassador to Paris sent newspaper clippings about her scandals, her love affairs, and the success she was enjoying as an actress and dancer on tours of Australia and the United States.
Without a doubt, Lola Montez had been an unconventional woman. She could be kind, generous, considerate, and even meek, but she was also reckless, volatile, and wild. She rode a horse like an Amazon, smoked cigarettes, was handy with a revolver, and wielded her riding whip against any man who dared to contradict her. In a time when women dedicated themselves to housework, she had traveled the world and had trodden the boards of the most important stages, from London to Sydney, even though her talent as a dancer left much to be desired. The king had kept hundreds of letters that she'd written to him over the course of their stormy relationship, as well as the poems she'd inspired as his muse and lover. He also kept, almost as a holy relic, Lola's foot sculpted in marble, which he used to kiss every night before bed. Today, upon receiving the letter from New York, he was overwhelmed once more by nostalgia:
Sire,
In early childhood, [I was] school companion in Scotland with a young girl who I little thought would ever have requested me on her death bed to write to your Majesty . . . She often spoke to me of your Majesty, and of your kindness and benevolence, which she deeply felt-And wished me to tell you she had changed her life and companions.
And now I redeem the promise I made to the late Mme. Lola Montez, known to me as Eliza Gilbert, and to add that she wished me to let you know she retained a sincere regard for your great kindness to the end of her life.
She died a true penitent, relying on her Savior for pardon and acceptance, triumphing only in His merit...
I have the Honor to be your Majesty's Obedt. & Humble Sert.
Maria E. Buchanan
Ludwig grew pensive for a moment, his eyes misting over. "My dear Lolita, did you ever love me?"
No one could have imagined that the little girl who'd just been born that cold, windy day in February 1821 in the town of Grange, Ireland, would become one of the most famous women of her era. She was a healthy, cheerful girl with lovely features much like her mother's. From her father, Edward Gilbert, an ensign in the British army, she'd inher-ited her bravery and her thirst for adventure. The handsome officer had arrived in County Cork with the Twenty-Fifth Regiment of Foot to put down the Irish rebellion against King George III of England. Tall, manly, and vigorous, he had thick blond sideburns and a slim mustache. Among all the Irish girls, one in particular caught his eye. Her name was Eliza Oliver. At fourteen-eight years younger than he-she was working as a milliner's apprentice, even though she came from a good family. She was beautiful, with deep black eyes, pale skin, and long, curly hair. What Eliza saw in the dapper soldier, with his jollity and his splendid red uniform, was an escape from a humdrum life.
The Olivers were a powerful, landowning Protestant family in County Cork. Young Eliza was proud of her roots, even though everybody knew she was illegitimate. Her father, Charles Silver Oliver, was a member of Parliament and an influential figure in his community. Before finally marrying at the age of forty, he'd sired four children with his lover, Mary Green. The couple lived in Castle Oliver, an ancient, stately mansion in the south of County Limerick. There Eliza came into the world in 1805, the same year her father took a proper lady to be his wife. Though that union produced seven legitimate heirs, Mr. Oliver did not abandon his bastards. Eliza, Mary, and their brothers, John and Thomas, all bore their father's last name, and the patriarch made sure they were taken care of. After their mother's death, the boys started working as apprentice shopkeepers and the two sisters with Mrs. Hall, a milliner who taught them the craft. When the distinguished Mr. Oliver died unexpectedly in 1817, he left them the considerable sum of five hundred pounds each, which they would receive when they turned twenty-one.
In the spring of 1820, Ensign Edward Gilbert and his beautiful fiancee made plans to wed. Theirs was a hasty engagement, as the groom-to-be's regiment would be leaving Cork to impose peace in a northern area that was being menaced by rebels. With his departure looming, the couple married on April 29 in Christ Church, in the presence of some of the most prominent members of the local Protestant elite.
For Eliza, an itinerant new life began. Discovering she was pregnant at fifteen meant she could no longer follow Edward along the rough, dusty roads of the Irish countryside. In midwinter the couple settled down in a gray stone cottage by the sea, lashed by wind and rain, in the town of Grange, County Sligo. In this remote corner of northern Ireland, Eliza's only daughter, Elizabeth Rosanna Gilbert-who became better known as Lola Montez-came into the world.
After his daughter's birth, Edward looked for a better-paid position that would offer greater opportunities for advancement. A year later he traded his post in County Sligo for one in India. During this period, trade with India was monopolized by the East India Company, which had been established in 16oo by a group of merchants and operated in the government's name in places under British control. Eliza was thrilled to leave cold, gloomy Ireland for such a remote and exotic locale. She imagined India as a sort of paradise where she'd be able to live like a real memsahib, a British officer's wife, ensconced in a colonial mansion with magnificent staircases and surrounded by a cloud of servants. She dreamed of attending parties and meeting a maharajah, one of those Indian princes who wore gold-embroidered garments and silk turbans like something out of an orientalist tale.
Though Edward knew the voyage would be risky for his young daughter, he was unwilling to be separated from her. At that time, very few British officers lived in India with their wives, since the journey was considered to be too hard on a woman's "fragile" nature. His family and friends tried to persuade him to leave Lola in their care, but it was no use. He was undeterred by arguments about India's unwholesome climate and the tropical diseases that ravaged European colonists. Officers' salaries were high there, and the low cost of living would allow him to indulge in a level of luxury that was out of reach in his own country. Eliza, with her adventurous spirit, was unconcerned about dangers and discomforts. The Gilberts packed their bags, said goodbye to their loved ones, and traveled to London, where they bought passage on a majestic East India Company steamer.
On the morning of March 14, 1823, Edward and his family set sail into the unknown. They couldn't afford a first-class cabin as they would have liked, but the couple and other officers on board took part in boisterous evenings in the main salon and gathered on the upper deck to enjoy the stunning sunsets over the Arabian Sea. At the time, prior to the construction of the Suez Canal, the journey to India took four long months, with only a stopover or two to restock water and provisions. Lola was just two years old, but she eagerly absorbed the new world of odors, colors, and sounds. She probably got seasick, as most did on the uncomfortable, tedious voyage, since powerful storms were commonplace after rounding the Cape of Good Hope. When the ship finally docked at Diamond Harbour, the worst was yet to come. As soon as he set foot on solid ground, Ensign Gilbert was informed that his unit had already left for the garrison of Dinapore, near the Nepalese border, and he was to catch up with them as soon as possible. Irritated, he relayed the news to his wife.
"I'm sorry, my dear, but we must leave immediately. My regiment is already on the road, and if I delay my arrival, I won't be able to justify it to my superiors."
"But we're exhausted," she protested, on the verge of tears. "We need to recover our strength."
"I know, Eliza, I know it's been a hard voyage, but I must follow orders. Soon we'll arrive at our destination and you can rest. Please trust in me."
And so they began traveling once more.
Edward didn't want to worry his wife, but the journey would be a difficult one. His unit was near Patna, some four hundred miles upriver on the Ganges, which they would have to travel on small, triangular-sailed boats, at the mercy of the wind. It was summer, monsoon season, and the frequent torrential rains wouldn't end until late September. The suffocating heat and the stench of the pestilent wetlands would accompany them throughout the entire journey.
The Gilberts joined the last regiment companies leaving Calcutta, the capital of British India. The fleet was able to navigate an average of only ten miles a day through the treacherous currents and sandbanks. Despite the insects, the meager food, and the vessels' slow progress, it was a fascinating spectacle. At some spots, the Ganges measured nearly three miles across, and lush vegetation grew along its fertile banks. The tropical forests full of shrieking gray monkeys gave way to wide grasslands, steaming villages, and ancient fortress ruins. On occasion, they came upon small herds of water buffalo that ventured to the river at dusk. The natives who worked the rice paddies on either side of the majestic river sold them food only reluctantly.
Little Lola's first impressions of India during that journey through the marshy delta would be etched in her memory forever. Snuggled beside her mother, she surveyed the bright sky and the greenery exploding before her astonished eyes. Ensign Gilbert had come prepared to combat boredom; in one of his heavy trunks, he had brought a ten-volume New British Theatre, three volumes of work by his favorite poet, Alexander Pope, and a book on French grammar. Early in the trip, he whiled away the hours by pulling out his brushes and painting scenes of daily life on the Ganges. In the evenings, to Lola's delight, he would entertain the passengers with his silver-trimmed boxwood flute.
After countless days of travel, they reached Dinapore, a steep, desolate jungle outpost. They spotted the officers' bungalows, half hidden in lush vegetation, high on a promontory. From the small dock, a red dirt road led to the infantrymen's barracks. Unfortunately, Edward Gilbert was unable to enjoy his garrison mates' warm welcome or the music that the military band played in his honor. By the time they reached the river market at Patna, he'd begun vomiting and suffering from diarrhea, the first symptoms of cholera. When the military doctor confirmed how terribly ill he was, Eliza felt as if the earth were caving in. She was alone in a strange place with a tiny daughter who might very well meet the same fate as her father. Despite the risk of contagion, she remained staunchly beside the bed where her gaunt, haggard husband lay, nearly unrecognizable.
One day, feeling that his end was near, Edward took her hand and said weakly, "Eliza, you must be brave, for yourself and for our daughter. When I go, find a good husband. You cannot remain here on your own, promise me that."
"There, there, rest now," she murmured, daubing his temples with a damp cloth. "Don't say anything more. I'm sure you will recover and-"
"No, my love, I'm sorry. We had so many dreams . . ."
Those were his last words. Edward closed his eyes and his name joined the long list of his countrymen who had seen their hopes cut short in that remote outpost. After a solemn ceremony, he was buried next to the simple church. The many tombstones recalled the stories of the brave officers, missionaries, and soldiers of the empire who had met their deaths there. But what struck Eliza most were the tiny graves containing children who had never seen their parents' homeland. Dinapore was considered "the white man's tomb," ravaged by frequent epidemics of cholera, malaria, and yellow fever. Most of the brave women who had followed their husbands paid with their lives.
At eighteen, Eliza was a widow, alone with a daughter in an unfamiliar country. In the asphyxiating, hermetic society of the British colonies, there was no place for a woman like her unless she remarried. She wanted to flee that jungle full of mosquitoes, filth, and endless rain, but there was no regular passenger service along the river. A month after her husband's death, the regiment auctioned off all his personal effects, including his prized flute. They gave the sum collected plus the wages still owed to the deceased officer, a total of sixty pounds, to Eliza. With that money and a paltry widow's pension, she could survive in India for several months, though it wasn't enough to pay for passage back to England. Despite these misfortunes, the grief-stricken Mrs. Gilbert refused to give up. She needed to find a husband at once, and there would be no lack of suitors.
In November, Eliza and her daughter left Dinapore for Calcutta. After visiting Edward's grave one last time, they boarded an old riverboat along with a dozen other passengers. One was twenty-four-year-old Scottish lieutenant Patrick Craigie, a member of the Nineteenth Regiment of Native Infantry of the British East India Company and her dead husband's comrade in arms. He'd just been ordered back to Calcutta after making a name for himself as the Company's political agent at the court in Jaipur. Patrick got along well with his fellow officers, and his superiors held him in high regard. During the trip, to cheer up the beautiful widow, he told her amazing stories from his five years in India. In Jaipur he had seen the country at its most romantic, and he described in detail a world of tiger hunting, jewel-bedecked maharajahs, elephants draped in gold, and sumptuous galas in mansions nestled at the foot of the Himalayas. This was nothing like Eliza's experience in Dinapore, of which she remembered only the sticky damp, the mosquitoes, the generously sized rats, the roads that turned into expanses of mud, and the soporific five o'clock teas with snooty ladies who eyed her pityingly. Nor could she forget her shocking visit to the nearby village of thatch-roofed mud huts, where the overpowering smell of smoked fish mingled with the stench of stagnant water and wood fires. In such filthy, stinking towns, naked children splashed in wastewater a stone's throw from the clean bungalows where the whites resided. Eliza opened her heart to the young officer.
"Since I first arrived in this country, all I have experienced is pain and suffering," she confessed sadly. "All my dreams have disappeared."
"That's to be expected-you've just lost your husband, you're all on your own with a child to take care of . . . But I assure you that Calcutta will be very different. You'll have a new lease on life."
"I hope so. I've felt so abandoned. All I want is to forget the past and start a new life."
After Edward's death, Eliza had quickly lost interest in her child, leaving her in the care of native servants. Suddenly it occurred to her that being on the arm of a gallant, well-respected officer like Lieutenant Craigie would give her access to the closed circle of Calcutta's British high society. He was a tall, sturdy man, his face tanned by the sun, who wore thick brown sideburns and a white pith helmet. The romance between the Scottish officer and the widow Gilbert blossomed on that voyage through the mangrove swamps of the Ganges delta before the prying gazes of the other passengers. Despite a deep mutual attraction, Eliza had to respect the mourning period. She could not risk sullying her reputation.
In 1823 Calcutta was a bustling, cosmopolitan city that offered the creature comforts a colonist required to feel at home. Built around the imposing Fort William, which had been erected to house British troops, the city had paved streets, a hospital, a prison, a mosque, splendid government buildings, marble palaces, tidy gardens, several cricket fields, and a horse track. Eliza took up lodgings in the tranquil residential area along the banks of the Hooghly River, a golden ghetto where members of the British military and their families lived in isolation from the natives. Having been raised in the tedium of the Irish countryside, Eliza found her new surroundings immensely exciting. She was young and naive, but she didn't take long to learn the basic rules for being a respected memsahib: not being too familiar with her native servants, maintaining strict norms of cleanliness and obedience in her home, and never going without a corset, despite the heat and humidity. Captivated by the tales of some of the English ladies, she dreamed of attending dazzling balls and dancing to the music of grand orchestras, banqueting at luxurious oriental feasts, and rolling alongside the Ganges at dusk in an elegant carriage. Above all, she was eager for her name to be included on the very exclusive guest list of India's new governor-general, Lord Amherst.
Lola barely saw her mother, who was enjoying a vibrant social life. Like most British children in India, Lola was raised by a native nanny, an ayah, who sang beautiful lullabies, made up games, and humored her every whim. The ayah, Denali, was a kind, affectionate young woman from Punjab. She taught Lola a few words of Bengali and opened the door to an entirely new world of sensations. "Whenever Mother went out to dinner or to some gala or reception and did not return until dawn, I would stay with my dear ayah, and that was always a party. I would sit on her lap and she would tell me magical tales until I fell asleep in her arms. She was a great comfort for me, and I never forgot her," Lola would recall years later.
Calcutta's lush green foliage, the blinding sun, the violent storms, the brightly colored birds, the delicious fruit, the music, the ritual dances-everything-sparked Lola's curiosity. The penetrating aromas of spices, incense, and earth would remain with her forever. The slen-der Indian women wrapped in saris, with their arms covered in silver bangles, looked like princesses from a fairy tale.
From time to time, with Denali, she would go to the "black city," a tangle of narrow, dusty streets where the Europeans never ventured. There, the natives lived in a tumult that Lola found invigorating. She wasn't afraid of anything-not the snake charmers or the fakirs or the thick-bearded holy men who smeared their naked bodies with ash. But her biggest adventure happened on the day she accompanied her ayah to the temple dedicated to Kali, the patron goddess of Calcutta. Inside, barely lit by the dim light of the oil lamps, a striking statue of the god-dess sat atop the altar, all in black marble except for the eyes and tongue, which were painted gold and blood red. At one time, Kali's devout wor-shipers had made human sacrifices to her, but now they offered only the blood of chickens and black goats. Legends of the powerful goddesses Kali and Durga, protectors of the truth and destroyers of evil, kindled the little girl's imagination and transported her to a magical world.
Twice a week she would bathe at twilight in the Hooghly River, even though her mother had forbidden it out of fear she might be bitten by a snake. As Lola grew older, she became more and more beautiful-and more and more reckless. She almost always went barefoot, she climbed trees, she chewed betel nuts until her mouth was stained bright red, and she played with the native children on streets littered with cow patties. She never forgot those sweltering afternoons when it was too hot to go outside and she would lie under a gauzy mosquito net, drifting off to the rhythmic whisper of the punkah, a cloth ceiling fan that a native boy would move by pulling on a rope in exchange for a few pence a day.
Less than a year after Edward's death, his widow agreed to marry Lieutenant Patrick Craigie. The officer had been posted to Dhaka, in central Bangladesh, where the pair were married on August 16, 1824, in a small civil ceremony. The city was a wealthy, bustling trading center for British India on the banks of the Buriganga River. Though it offered more comforts than Dinapore, summers were unbearably hot. And since it was at sea level, enormous monsoon floods would wipe out entire villages. After the wedding, Eliza and her daughter moved into a pretty bungalow near the military headquarters. Europeans considered Dhaka less civilized than vibrant Calcutta, but the house was large, with a lovely garden, and they had a dozen servants. In the center of the city were several well-stocked shops, a public park, a bank, a steepled church, a small school, and a club where officers gathered to have a whiskey and read weeks-old issues of the Times. Lola now had a stepfather, whom she always remembered fondly. Though he referred to her as "Mrs. Craigie's daughter," he was affectionate and invested in her well-being. Unfortunately, his military obligations forced him to spend long periods away from home.
When Lola turned five, her stepfather made a decision that brought her happy, lazy days in India to an end. Convinced that the child needed more discipline, one afternoon he suggested to his wife that they send her to Scotland to live with his elderly father. The conventional wisdom was that English children raised in India would become wayward sheep, and Lola was showing no signs of being an exception.
"It will be good for her," he said firmly. "India isn't her home and the education is inadequate."
"I suppose you're right," Eliza admitted, "but I'm worried about how she'll take it. She seems so happy here."
"She's too young to understand that we're doing it for her own good," Lieutenant Craigie said. "She'll be in the care of my family in Montrose. It's a quiet town where everybody knows one another."
Upon learning that she would be sent back to the British Isles in less than a month, Lola shut herself in her room and wept. She never forgave her mother, convinced that Eliza wanted to rid herself of her daughter's burdensome presence once and for all. In the winter of 1826, Patrick Craigie was named deputy assistant adjutant-general of the regiment in Meerut, northeast of Delhi. At the same time, his former commander, Lieutenant Colonel William Innes, decided to retire to England with his family. It was a happy coincidence, and the Inneses agreed to escort Lola to London; from there, the girl would continue on to Montrose.
It was the last Christmas she spent with her family in India, and Lola remembered it as the saddest she had ever experienced. As December drew to a close, she said goodbye and boarded the Malcolm, carrying her little suitcase. From the deck, hidden among the throng of passengers waving their handkerchiefs in the air, she watched the gangway be pulled back and the huge sails unfurl. She felt expelled from paradise, headed for an unfamiliar place where she didn't know a soul. She was leaving behind a childhood full of magical memories and her loving Denali, whom she would always carry in her heart.
Lieutenant Colonel Innes and his wife didn't have an easy time wrangling the willful, disobedient girl for the more than four endless months. It was a particularly difficult and hazardous journey from the moment they weighed anchor. The Malcolm stopped for provisions in Madras and then crossed the Indian Ocean, rocked by violent storms. Water and food were rationed, and the torrential downpours made life on board even more trying. By the time the ship passed the Cape of Good Hope, two soldiers returning home on leave had died, and a third died a month before they reached their destination. Luckily, they were able to restock their provisions at the port of Saint Helena, and the rest of the voyage was somewhat calmer.
Though Mrs. Innes was kind and patient with her, Lola was miserable. She spent most of the journey huddled behind the curtain that covered her bunk, refusing to talk to anybody. As the ship approached England's shores, she was gripped by a powerful sense of anguish and unease. On May 19, 1827, the Malcolm berthed in Blackwall, east of the Tower of London, and the luggage was unloaded in an intense downpour. On the docks, Lola said a chilly goodbye to the Inneses and left with one of her stepfather's relatives who had come to take her to Scotland.
After vibrant Calcutta, Montrose seemed as cold, damp, and gray as a cemetery. It was located between Dundee and Aberdeen on the banks of an estuary that formed an inlet and protected it from the North Sea's powerful storms. Wealthy merchants had built a few luxurious mansions on its main street, but the rest of the buildings were drab and charmless. Her step-grandfather, also named Patrick Craigie, had been provost of the town for a quarter century and was now enjoying his retirement. He and his wife, Mary, had nine children, the youngest just seven years older than Lola.
In a sleepy town like Montrose, a little girl arriving from the East Indies caused a sensation. Her unusual manner of dressing, her comportment, and the familiar way she addressed strangers provoked all sorts of commentary.
Contrary to her expectations, Lola's step-grandparents were kind to her. But the household's old governess tried unsuccessfully to reform the mutinous child. Lola relished being the center of attention and let her imagination run wild. She loved to recount how a rich maharajah in Jaipur had tried to pay her father a fortune in gold to allow her to marry the maharajah's son. The people of Montrose remembered her as a mischievous, lively girl who amused herself during Sunday mass by sticking flowers in the wigs of elderly gentlemen sitting in the next pew. Lola spent the next four years in the green, misty landscapes of the Scottish countryside. She learned to ride horses and galloped through the broad fields near her step-grandfather's farm every day. Though she wrote her stepfather several letters begging him to let her return to India, he ignored her pleas.
When Lola turned ten, her stepfather's older sister, Catherine Rae, and her husband, William, moved to Durham, England, where they opened a girls' boarding school in Monkwearmouth. Lola's step-grandfather decided that the girl should go with them.
"Sweetheart," he said tenderly, "you're nearly a woman now. You can't stay here. You know that we love you and you're part of this family, but at boarding school you'll learn good manners and be with other girls your age."
"Grandfather, I've been moving around my entire life," Lola said, downcast. "I've never had female friends, and all I want is to go back to India to be with my parents. I miss them so much."
"But that's not an option now. Your parents want what's best for you, and you have to be strong. It's already been decided, darling, don't make things more difficult."
Even at that young age, Lola was already well acquainted with loneliness and alienation. She'd been forced to abandon her native Ireland, her first home in Dinapore, and the house in Calcutta where she'd been happy; she'd watched her father die, been separated from her beloved Denali, and now was going to be deprived of her step-grandparents' love. But all she could do was pack her bags again.
Lola was at the boarding school in Monkwearmouth only a year, but her presence didn't go unnoticed. Her drawing teacher, Mr. Grant, remembered her as rebellious, eccentric, and very stubborn:
Eliza Gilbert . . . was at that time a very elegant and beautiful child . . . [her charm] only lessened by . . . indomitable self-will . . . Her complexion was orientally dark, but transparently clear; her eyes were of deep blue, and, as I distinctly remember, of excessive beauty . . . [A]ltogether, it was impossible to look at her for many minutes without feeling convinced that she was made up of very wayward and troublesome elements.
In late 183o Lola's stepfather had been promoted to captain, which enabled him to enroll the girl in a more prestigious school recommended by his division mate, Major-General Sir Jasper Nicolls. The distinguished officer was planning to return to England on a two-year leave, and Craigie asked him to look after Lola until classes started. In mid-September 1832, Lola and Mrs. Rae made a long trip by horse-drawn carriage from Durham to Reading, west of London. The general, a rigid man who was used to giving orders and seeing them carried out, lived there with his wife and their eight daughters. From the start, he was convinced that the wild child would never come to anything good. Lola stayed with the Nicollses for a few weeks and enjoyed a level of comfort and luxury she'd never experienced before. Then she was sent to Bath, where she would continue her studies.
Her new boarding school was a prestigious and very expensive institution located on Camden Place (now Camden Crescent), a large, half-moon-shaped terrace of Georgian-style residences that included some of the city's most coveted mansions. The elegant academy occupied a two-story building with a neoclassical stone facade decorated with slender Corinthian columns. All the students-fifteen girls between the ages of ten and eighteen-came from wealthy families with good reputations. The rigorous curriculum included the customary feminine disciplines, such as dancing, needlepoint, drawing, singing, and piano, but they also learned French and Latin. The girls were allowed to speak English only on Sundays, and anyone who broke this rule had to pay a fine from her pocket money. Although Bath was an elegant resort city popular in British high society for its thermal waters, Lola was not able to enjoy its lively atmosphere. The rules at the Aldridge Academy were very harsh, and students were allowed to go out only very rarely and under strict supervision.
Still, Lola looked back on her years in Bath as a happy time during which she shared secrets and pranks with her first female friends. The education she received was fairly comprehensive for a girl of that era. Aldridge's young women were trained not only to be good wives and diligent housekeepers but also to cultivate their minds and spirits. Lola lived there for five years. She would never again spend so long in one place.
Though Sir Jasper Nicolls admired Captain Craigie and considered him one of his finest officers, he didn't care much for his wife. After eighteen months with Lola in his care, Eliza hadn't displayed the slight-est interest in her daughter's education. The officer wrote in his diary on February 14, 1834:
At last we have heard from Mrs. Craigie, who was I supposed constrained to answer our numerous letters tho' she heard from us 6 times before this effect was produced-I felt great surprise-not a little vexed-and in some degree repented of having so easily undertaken an unpleasant and apparently thankless task. I likened her to a tortoise who buries her eggs lightly in the sand, and leaves them to sun, and to chance.
In the autumn of 1836, when Lola was almost sixteen, Eliza wrote a brief letter announcing that she was coming to Bath so they could return to India together. Her mother's impending arrival filled Lola with dread. She barely remembered Eliza's face and had conflicting emotions about her absent mother.
Mrs. Craigie left Calcutta for England on the steamship Orient. She hadn't seen her daughter in more than ten years. By now she was the wife of a very important man in the East India Company, a captain respected and admired by his superiors, who would soon be promoted to major. Unlike during her first voyage to India as a young roman-tic, Eliza was traveling as a grande dame, with copious luggage and a first-class cabin. Her husband had given her a substantial sum in case of unexpected obstacles.
Aboard the Orient, Eliza met Thomas James, a lieutenant working for the East India Company who was returning to his native Ireland on sick leave. Twenty-nine years old-two years her junior-he was a slim man with blue eyes and brown hair. Romantic dalliances were very common on these protracted voyages, and the handsome officer soon began wooing her. Thomas was a member of the Protestant landed gentry in County Wexford, but he did not enjoy a noble title or great wealth. During the five-month journey, Eliza flirted with him openly despite the other passengers' stern looks. One day she told him the reason for her trip.
"My daughter is at boarding school in Bath, and I am headed there to fetch her. I will be staying until her classes end. Maybe you could visit us there-I am sure that the city's thermal waters would be most beneficial, and we could have a lovely time."
"I can't make you any promises, my dear, however much I would love to see you again and meet your daughter."
The morning that Eliza strode through the foyer at the Aldridge Academy, she felt her heart pounding. For days she had been imagining how the reunion would go. She'd last seen Lola when the little girl was just five years old, and now she'd become a woman. The encounter was a disastrous one. The girl eagerly embraced her mother, who gave her a chilly kiss on the forehead. Lola was almost as tall as she, and more beautiful than she'd expected.
"My dear child!" Eliza exclaimed, looking her up and down. "You are so profoundly changed that I scarcely recognize you. That hairstyle is most unbecoming."
"Welcome, Mother," Lola replied.
"Come along, grab your suitcase and say goodbye to your friends. We must do some catching up-it's been such a long time, hasn't it? You have so many things to tell me."
Lola had no idea how to react. Despite all the time that had passed, the elegant, handsome woman was utterly unchanged and seemed incapable of expressing any emotion. After a brief conversation with Lola's teachers, the two women left the school. Mrs. Craigie had rented some well-appointed rooms for them in Camden Place so she could spend time alone with her daughter while Lola was finishing her school year.
Eliza tried to be friendly, and in the afternoons the two would go shopping in the city's famous clothing stores. Lola was surprised by her mother's sudden generosity; no expense was spared in buying her dresses, corsets, silk stockings, shawls, boots, and even a flattering riding outfit that Lola loved. They also strolled together through the botanical gardens on the banks of the River Avon and visited the Roman baths. For a moment tensions seemed to wane between the two, and Lola was grateful for her mother's attentions and the gifts she showered on her. But Eliza found her daughter's radiant beauty irritating; it reminded her of herself in her youth. At thirty-two she was still a beautiful woman, but India's climate had taken its toll. She could not deny that her little girl had become a stunning woman who inspired admiration wherever she went. She was slender, with a slight, well-proportioned build, and she had magnificent blue eyes framed by long, thick eyelashes and voluptuous red lips. But her most striking feature was her long, curly black hair. She could have passed for Romany or Andalusian. Eliza would have liked to have had a demurer daughter, but Lola had been a troublemaker since early childhood. One day, after a heated argument, Eliza asked her to sit down next to her.
"I know you hate me because you have felt abandoned, but I did it all for you. Now I want you to listen to me-I have something very important to tell you."
"I don't hate you, Mother," the young woman stammered, "but many years have passed and you never even answered my letters. How could I not feel abandoned? I was only a girl when you sent me away."
"Forget about the past now and listen: you are of marrying age, you are beautiful and well educated . . . and there is an important man in India who would like to meet you. He has seen your portrait and fallen in love. It is a good match, believe me."
Suddenly everything became clear to Lola. Eliza had come from so far away only because she had arranged for her to marry a rich, distinguished gentleman. The prospect was the adjutant-general of Bengal, Sir James Lumley, an elderly widower. The general, who had two bachelor sons near Lola's age, was Captain Patrick Craigie's commanding officer. Upon hearing her mother's proposal, Lola lashed out. She couldn't believe Eliza would try to marry her off to a man fifty years her senior whom she'd never met and did not love. Now she understood why her mother had given her all those beautiful gowns.
After that, the relationship between the two became unsustainable. Lola tried to spend as little time as possible with her mother, a sophisticated, superficial, irresponsible woman for whom she felt no affection.
That's how matters stood when Lieutenant James unexpectedly arrived to visit Mrs. Craigie that hot summer of 1837. Lola, who'd had little contact with the opposite sex, thought him old-though he was only thirty-but also pleasant, courteous, and very protective of her mother. She was most struck by his handsome smile and "gleaming white teeth," a rarity at the time. From the start, Thomas was drawn to the innocent freshness of the schoolgirl, whose grace and charm eclipsed her mother's. Gradually he worked to gain Lola's trust and would walk with her from her rooms on Camden Place to the Aldridge Academy. In her stepfather's absence and without anyone to whom she could pour out her heart, Lola befriended the stranger, and he became her confidant. One day, in distress, she described her mother's plan to marry her off to an elderly stranger. Thomas, who had lost all interest in Eliza and was smitten instead with her daughter, began to reflect on his future. He would soon need to return to Calcutta to rejoin his regiment, and
doing so with a beautiful young wife on his arm suited him very well. Out of the blue, he made an unexpected proposition.
"My dear, I will not allow your mother to ruin your life. If you marry the man she has chosen, you will be very unhappy."
"In just a few weeks I will be forced to leave with her," Lola said resignedly. "I have no choice."
"Yes, you do. Let's go away together without letting anyone know. We can get married in Ireland."
"But we hardly know each other, and what's more, my mother would never agree to it."
"Do not be afraid of your mother," Thomas said, taking her hands in his. "I know her well, and she does not want a scandal. She will acquiesce in the end."
Lola had not expected such a proposition from Thomas, whom she had come to see as a sort of father figure. He seemed sincere in his sentiment and willing to help her change her fate. She was not in love with him, but this exciting adventure was a perfect plan to annoy her mother. Eliza, who was so certain and firm in her convictions, still treated Lola like a little girl, completely disregarding her opinions and emotions.
Before leaving, the young woman wrote her mother a brief note, which she left on her bedside table:
Mother, I know you will never forgive me, but I cannot remain by your side. I am leaving with Thomas, who loves me and will look after me. I can't bear the way you treat me or your vile plotting. I refuse to throw my life away. I am still very young and must think of my own happiness.
Your daughter
As she stealthily packed her bags the next day, Lola was oblivious to the damage the elopement would cause to her reputation. She was a sixteen-year-old romantic who, until recently, had been sheltered in a boarding school. After night had fallen, Lieutenant James's carriage pulled up in front of Mrs. Craigie's residence at the appointed time. Lola crept out to meet him, carrying a suitcase with her few belongings, and they headed down the steep road to Bristol.
"Don't look back, you have me now. Soon I will be your husband," Thomas murmured as he held her in his arms. "I love and desire you so much, sweetheart."
Lola allowed herself to be carried away by passion, but she was distraught deep inside, imagining her mother's reaction. There was no turning back now. She would soon discover that she'd made a mistake she would regret for the rest of her life.
Excerpted from Divine Lola by Cristina Morató with permission from the publisher, Amazon Crossing. Text Copyright © 2017 by Cristina Morató. Translation copyright © 2021 by Andrea Rosenberg. All rights reserved.
Preview of The Nature of Fragile Things by Susan Meissner
